


Watch out boy

by CheapLemonIceLolly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mention of past relationships, Sad, call ups and reassignments and the general trauma of people being shuffled around like chess pieces, feelings are hard, human plot device Lawson Crouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheapLemonIceLolly/pseuds/CheapLemonIceLolly
Summary: “I told you this would happen,” Law tells him with this, like, obnoxiously superior air.  “You’re exactly his type, you know.”“What,” Nick says, picking at his salad, “happy and short?”“No, I mean you make him look good.”It turns out Dylan Strome might be a bit of a heartbreaker, just not in the way you'd think.





	Watch out boy

**Author's Note:**

> I’m...sorry for this? It’s not a breakup fic but it’s not exactly a neat happy ending either. I don’t know, I have a lot of messy Coyotes/Roadrunners feelings so this fic has a lot of messy feelings in it too. Written very quickly to, like, exorcise those feelings, so please forgive any errors or conflicts with reality, because canon-compliance was not my priority!
> 
> PS: there are two other fics in this ship tag and you should go read them RIGHT NOW because they’re both amazing and more uplifting than this one.

Law tells Nick to “be careful” with Dylan Strome on the first day of camp.

He scoffs, but Law just looks at him, deathly serious in a way that doesn’t match this ridiculous situation at all. He knows Dylan’s had a rough year, but come on.

“Why?” Nick grins. “You think he’s gonna get his heart broken again?”

“No,” says Law. “Not _him._ ”

Dylan skates up just then and runs right into Nick instead of stopping, draping an arm over his shoulders as they both slide a little on their skates. He flashes a big smile, bright and open and easy, like they’re best friends already.

“Sup, boys?” he says. “What’s the news?”

“Just getting filled in on your maneater reputation,” Nick tells him, which makes Law snort and roll his eyes like, don’t encourage him, god. It’s fond though. Everyone likes Dylan, whatever his reputation; he’s easy to like.

“Like, woah here she comes?” he says delightedly. “Awesome. Guess you better watch out, eh?”

*

It’s not like that, not really. It’s not like people have to go around protecting guys from Dylan’s insatiable appetite for breaking hearts or whatever. He just seems to churn through these intense relationships so fast it’s hard to keep track of who he’s on with at any given time.

“I’m not a _commitment-phobe_ ,” Dylan says, as if Nick would ever use that term, as if anyone’s used that term since 1998. “If anything, I’m the opposite. I’ll commit your ass off.”

“Sure,” Nick says, rolling his shoulders. “Like you committed McDavid’s ass off. And Marner’s, and DeBrincat’s and…”

“Look, okay,” Dylan cuts him off, making a face. “I know what it sounds like. But it’s not like I wanted any of that to go down like it did. It’s not really serial monogamy if they’re the ones who drop you, is it?”

Nick wants to ask him where he got all these ridiculous Cosmo terms. Like, who the fuck says “serial monogamy,” anyway? He hasn’t even got sisters. But instead Nick just smiles and says, “I don’t know, man. Maybe.”

They go back to watching House Hunters in easy silence, tipping in towards each other on the couch so their shoulders are just touching. If Law was here he’d be giving Nick a disapproving look, probably, but he’s not, so Nick just enjoys it.

After a while Dylan says, without looking away from the TV, “I did actually love all of them, you know. I know people think I didn’t, but I did. I _do_. Never stopped.”

Their hands are close together on the cushion between them, almost touching. Nick lets his pinkie graze the side of Dylan’s hand and he doesn’t pull away, not that it means anything, but it doesn’t necessarily not mean anything.

“Yeah, no,” he says. “I believe you.”

*

Nick knows Dylan isn’t some kind of elite player (in the sexy way, anyway) because it takes him until the end of October to realise Nick is even into him, and it’s not like Nick’s being subtle by that point. He’d kind of thought he’d lost his shot there when the season started and Dylan made the roster and he didn’t, but when fate closes a door it opens a window, or something. He shouldn’t be happy about a guy getting sent down, but it’s kind of working out in his favour.

Eventually, anyway. Dylan’s just a slow starter, that’s all.

“In my defence,” he says, when Nick gets sick of waiting and climbs right into his lap at the Halloween party, “I didn’t want to assume. You could just be super friendly.”

“I mean, I am,” Nick agrees, raking his hands through Dylan’s hair, which is too long and getting curly at the sides. It sticks out of his helmet over his ears when they play and looks fucking ridiculous, which Nick kind of can’t get enough of. “I am, but there’s a difference.” Dylan ought to know that already, honestly. They’re a lot alike in that sense.

“What’s the difference?” he says casually, while his eyes travel over Nick’s mouth and down his neck, like he’s tracing a path he’d prefer to follow with his fingers. He probably doesn’t even notice that he licks his lips after, but Nick does.

Nick decides showing him is easier than telling.

*

The sex is excellent, but the hockey is even better, electric and seamless and about the most fun Nick thinks he’s capable of having without his dick out. They light up the AHL, unstoppable on the first line, and it feels like it’s only a matter of time before someone in Glendale sits up and takes notice.

Nick’s not even sure he wants them too, not yet. Not that he doesn’t care about making the show, but just...winning feels good, and right now he feels like he can’t lose.

He can see, now, how all Dylan’s significant hockey friendships end up the way they do, larger than life and supercharged and borderline codependent, because sex and hockey and emotion are almost indistinguishable with him. There’s this constant feedback loop of scoring and fucking and Dylan just heaping praise on Nick like he’s the most amazing liney, fuckbuddy, actual buddy Dylan’s ever had, and his undivided attention is intense but kind of amazing. The way he lights up when Nick enters a room, even when he only just left a minute ago to go piss or get another Gatorade from the fridge, it’s pretty addictive.

Every time he kisses Nick it’s like he thinks he’s never going to get another chance. Gotta make this one count.

“You can slow down, you know,” Nick laughs. Dylan’s hands are everywhere, lips trailing over his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.

“You might be,” Dylan tells him. “Any of us might be. You’re doing so fucking good, Merks.”

He can’t stop smiling when he says it, which makes Nick’s heart feel light and oddly full at the same time, like it’s going to burst right out of his chest. Then they’re both smiling too hard to kiss without their teeth clicking together, and then they’re more sort of clutching at each other and laughing than making out anyway, and Nick rolls sideways and tugs Dylan over on top of him, feeling kind of like he needs Dylan’s weight to hold him down or he’s just going to float up to the ceiling with happiness.

He’s pretty sure one of them’s going to get called up soon, and it’s not him, but that’s okay. It kind of helps him understand the sense of urgency, at any rate.

*

“I told you this would happen,” Law tells him with this, like, obnoxiously superior air. “You’re exactly his type, you know.”

“What,” Nick says, picking at his salad, “happy and short?” It’s a joke, but he’s not sure he likes the idea of being a _type_ , like Law thinks the guys Dylan likes are all just interchangeable puzzle pieces. It’s not fair to any of them, but maybe especially to Dylan. That description doesn’t match McDavid, anyway, so.

“No, I mean you make him look good.”

Okay, so that’s even worse. Nick feels his smile slip, but he forces it back into place even bigger than before, a little sharp around the edges this time.

“Jealous?” he says. Law makes a face.

“I don’t mean he’s _not_ good,” he protests. “He’s my friend, obviously. I just...you are too. Don’t be, like, a stepping stone to something better for someone else, you know?”

“Yeah, ‘cause all those old stepping stones of his are really struggling these days,” says Nick, still smiling. It’s kind of hurting his face. Yesterday Dylan showed him an article about Calder trophy candidates to watch out for because DeBrincat was in it and he was so excited Nick thought he was going to cry or something. What a selfish asshole, right?

“Okay, whatever, forget I said anything,” Law huffs. “Guess you’re too far gone on him now, anyway.”

“Yeah,” says Nick. “Guess I am.”

*

Dylan’s easy to like, and even easier to love, which Nick discovers on the morning he gets the call up from Glendale. The explosion of sympathetic joy and then preemptive loneliness that hits him is so intense it makes him feel like he’s being ripped apart right down the middle, and it’s overwhelming because Nick just isn’t a lonely, self-pitying kind of guy at all. He’s easy to like too, it’s not as if he’ll be without friends. It’s not even like Glendale’s that far away. But...

As soon as Dylan’s finished telling him, just adorably giddy and all lit up and beautiful with it, his face falls so fast it’s almost comical.

“I’m going to fucking miss you,” he says.

“No, fuck off,” Nick tells him, forcing a laugh and hoping it doesn’t _sound_ forced. “You can’t be sad about this. This is the whole point.”

“I know,” Dylan says. “I’m not, it’s just...what if…”

Nick takes both Dylan’s hands in his and squeezes. “What if what?”

“I don’t think I’m likeable enough when I’m not actually around,” he says, looking away, and his mouth goes all twisty like he wishes he hadn’t said it. It makes Nick angry, makes his chest ache.

“That’s crap,” Nick tells him, lifting each of his hands so he can kiss Dylan’s knuckles, and then leaning in to kiss his unhappy, twisty mouth. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. Just don’t forget your lame minor league boyfriend while you’re off being a superstar or whatever.”

Dylan laughs, and Nick kisses him again, feels the sad twist of his lips soften into a warmer, more tender shape.

“Boyfriend, huh,” Dylan says.

Nick doesn’t even try to stop himself from grinning.

*

He’s watching the Yotes game with some of the guys when Dylan scores, and everyone’s yelling and hugging each other and it’s stupidly over the top and Nick can’t stop laughing. He’s almost as happy as if he’d scored the goal himself, probably. He takes a ten second video of the chaos to send to Dylan so he can see it when he gets off the ice.

_It’s like we love you around here or something_

He’s punched in the caption and sent it off before he even thinks about it, and then he’s got half a game to worry about dropping the L word for the first time in a fucking snap like a loser. He barely sees the rest of the game, his insides are roiling with this nauseating blend of anticipation and anxiety. But it’s not like being scared, it’s more like...he’s impatient for a response. He’s got a feeling.

He gets a message back so fast after the game ends that Dylan must’ve watched his snap almost before he did anything else. It’s a fuzzy selfie with half Dylan’s face cut off, on the most unflattering under-the-chin angle imaginable, and his smile’s got this manic, uncontrollable edge to it. It’s the best thing Nick has ever seen.

_ily2_

Nick screenshots it and is seriously considering setting it as his phone background when Law leans over.

“Looks like Stromer and Kells are getting on pretty well, huh?”

Nick’s not an idiot, he knows what that’s supposed to mean. He just laughs and pats Law on the shoulder.

“Well, you know, another day another short ass on his wing,” he says, grinning. “We‘ll always have Tucson, I guess.”

*

Getting called up is probably the best early Christmas present Nick could have hoped for, second only to the way it feels when Dylan hugs him hello in Glendale and lifts him right off his feet. His brain is just a whirlwind of _I’m here!_ and _you’re here!_ and _holy shit this is actually happening!_

He tugs lightly at Dylan’s hair and grins, once his feet are back on the ground. “Sick flow, man.”

“Shut up,” Dylan says, beaming like he can’t help it. “We can’t all be beautiful. Hey what are you doing tonight?”

“Uh, cooking you dinner I assume,” Nick says, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you learned how to feed yourself since you’ve been here.”

“Pfft,” says Dylan, waving one hand dismissively. The other one’s still caught up in the back of Nick’s shirt like now he’s got hold of him again he’s never going to let go. “We could go out. I could, like, wine and dine you or whatever. All romantic and shit.”

“Huh,” Nick hooks two fingers through Dylan’s belt loop and pulls him a little closer. “I don’t know. Might be more fun to stay in.”

It’s fucking smooth, is what it is, and Dylan laughs and actually blushes like they haven’t “stayed in” literally dozens of times before. It’s adorable. Nick’s missed him even more than he realised. 

He really does make dinner, though, because the stuff he has in mind for the rest of the night requires stamina, and he definitely doesn’t trust Dylan to cook. While Nick stirs spaghetti sauce on the stove in Dylan’s temporary call up apartment, Dylan leans against the fridge and watches him, smiling wonderingly like he can’t quite believe Nick is here.

“I can’t wait to have you on my wing again,” he says. “Everything’s going to be better now.”

Nick blinks. That seems like a strange way to put it, somehow. “Are we definitely going to be out together then?” he says. Then a weird thought occurs to him. “Did you, like, _ask_ for me?”

He doesn’t know how he feels about that. Somewhere between special and wanted and, he doesn’t know, a stepping stone. He tells the voice of Lawson Crouse in the back of his head to shut up.

“Oh,” says Dylan, surprised. “No. I’m just guessing. But Tocc’s bound to put us together, isn’t he. ‘Cause you were so good for me in Tucson, you know.”

The words strike Nick like little fists. He puts down the spoon and stares at Dylan.

“No, okay, sorry,” Dylan shakes his head. “That’s not…We’re good _together_. I _want_ him to put us together. I miss playing with you.”

Nick tries to pull himself back together in a hurry.

“You just miss being the best guy on your line,” he says with a short laugh. It’s a little mean, but he’s a little taken aback, so.

“Ha,” says Dylan. “Well that’s not going to happen. It’s like I have a magic dick or something, all my hookups end up doing better than me.”

There’s a very stiff silence.

“Wow,” Nick says. Dylan winces, scrunches his face right up like he can unsay it if he tries hard enough, but there it is anyway. Well and truly said.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighs.

“No, you did,” Nick says. He’s not exactly angry, not even hurt really. It’s not like he didn’t know Dylan had this in him, this kind of cruelly self-deprecating streak that always seems to lash out in the wrong direction. But it’s still a little startling. This isn’t how he was expecting tonight to go, how he was expecting to feel. “It’s just...geez, maybe the story isn’t all about you, you know?”

Dylan laughs, not in an amused way.

“Well, you _are_ spending your first night here making me dinner.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat, sad and bitter and unfunny.

“I can teach you the recipe,” Nick says, turning back to the stove so Dylan won’t see his smile sliding off his face. “And you can cook it for me next time. It’s not hard.”

*

They have sex, because Nick might be confused and a little disheartened but he’s not, like, dead.

It’s different from before, not bad different exactly, just weird, like Dylan’s trying to apologise with his body instead of his words. Nick kind of wishes he wouldn’t, because it makes him feel like he’s being held too close and held at arm’s length at the same time.

Still, it’s good, and a relief after so long, and Nick tucks himself into Dylan’s side after even though it’s kind of sticky and uncomfortable. Dylan doesn’t seem to want to stop touching him for a second, fingers roving restlessly up and down his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “For being a dick before. I’m glad you’re here ‘cause I missed you, not because you make me play better. But...” He sighs heavily. “I’m kind of hoping you’ll make me play better too. Is that shitty?”

Nick twists around a little to look at him properly. He’s frowning up at the ceiling, his profile all tense and his mouth tight around the corners like he’s bracing himself for something awful. It makes Nick feel sadder than he thought he would be, reunited and up with the big team.

“Nah.” Nick says. “I kinda like making you better. And I missed you too.”

Dylan smiles faintly at that, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s a long silence that Nick tries and fails to think of as comfortable.

“It hasn’t gone as well as it could’ve done,” Dylan says after a while, and for a horrible heart-stopping moment Nick thinks he’s talking about _them_. Then he grimaces and says, “They were hoping I’d be better than this, obviously.”

_You_ are _better than this_ , Nick wants to tell him, but that’s not going to help. He doesn’t get it. Dylan’s more than capable, he’s proved it over and over, but something about the actual NHL just seems to suck the life out of him, make him all cautious and panicky. Now they’re up close again, now he’s not just catching glimpses of Dylan’s face in snapchats and skype sessions, he can see it’s not just on the ice. He looks tired and drawn, like it’s all weighing too heavily on him.

It makes Nick ache a little. He wants to help, but he also just kind of wants it to go away and stop making his big call up moment feel so fucking miserable, too.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Dylan, willing the selfish part of himself to be quiet. “We’ll show them.”

*

They don’t show anyone anything. Nick skates with Dvo and Rinaldo at practice and Dylan gets sent back to Tucson before the next game. He doesn’t even look surprised when he gets the news, just resigned. Maybe even relieved.

Maybe Nick’s projecting the relief part. And probably that makes him a terrible boyfriend and a terrible person. He just kind of wishes they could rewind back to November when everything was good and exciting and full of potential. Now he feels like he wasted their too brief reunion being disappointed, and he’s going to waste his NHL debut feeling wrung out and sad.

“You’re going to kill it up here. I’m so proud of you,” Dylan tells him with such a huge smile that it almost feels like old times, until he adds, “Don’t forget about me, okay?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Nick says, tugging Dylan closer by the front of his coat. He said something like that when Dylan got brought up, sure, but that was funny, cute, lighthearted. This feels like desperation. “Didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“That’s not possible,” Dylan says, and his smile’s gone all sad and wistful now. Nick kind of hates it. “But I’m pretty forgettable, apparently.”

Nick wonders if this is Dylan’s real relationship problem; if it’s possible to love someone to pieces but find their crappy self esteem so exhausting you just can’t handle it any more. If someone can break your heart very slowly without meaning to, without even noticing it’s happening. He doesn’t want Law to be right. Nick hates failure and success in equal measure, for starting to ruin something so good so very quickly.

He smiles so hard his face hurts, because it feels better than saying any of that out loud.

“Shut up,” he says cheerfully, and barely even recognises his own voice. “I love you, the least you can do is believe me.”

Dylan looks startled.

“I do,” he says. “Merks. Of course I do. I’m…”

_Don’t say you’re sorry_ , Nick thinks. _Don’t_.

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay?” He reaches out a little haphazardly and snags his fingers on the bottom of Nick’s shirt. “I love you too,” he says, tugging lightly like he wants to reel Nick closer but he’s not sure if Nick will go.

Nick goes. He turns up his face to be kissed, and hugs Dylan as tightly as he can around the waist, and smiles and smiles until his cheeks feel numb.

“You fucking better,” he says.

Then Dylan’s gone, and he’s all alone.

So there it is. Welcome to the NHL.


End file.
